


Thy Sweet Love Remembered

by IneffableDoll



Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [21]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexuality, Crowley is also very very upset about this development, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Holding Hands, Hugs, Humor, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Rating for Language, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, he mopes about it, that’s the entire second chapter, this is the softest thing you’ll read today or I’ll eat my hat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27403384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll
Summary: Aziraphale realizes in 1941 that Crowley loves him back. One day, many years after the failed Armageddon, he finally feels ready to bring it up.This comes as a massive surprise to Crowley (master of not evaluating his feelings), who had no idea that he was in love with his best friend.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714558
Comments: 23
Kudos: 145
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spat this out last night, barely edited, here we go. I’ve had this idea written down literally since March and I don’t know why it took me so long to write it. (This was supposed to be maybe 2K, but are any of us really surprised this is how it turned out?)  
> Title is from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 29. Yes, I’m still on my nonsense about how perfect that sonnet is for Crowley. Leave me be.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure why this was the day. Only two months ago, he and Crowley had celebrated the Ninth Anniversary of The World Not Ending with their customary visit to the Ritz. Not that they really needed an excuse, as they went there regularly, but Aziraphale liked having excuses because that meant he could go more often.

Of course, Crowley was indulgent enough that the demon wouldn’t have complained if Aziraphale dragged him there every day. This was because Crowley, Serpent of Eden and Aziraphale’s best friend, was in love with him.

Aziraphale beamed into his empty bookshop, where midday was approaching and the shop doors remained firmly locked, regardless of what the note on the front said. Today was special and would not be interrupted by would-be book thieves, because Aziraphale had come to a Decision.

(Yes, he capitalized it. He felt it was important enough to deserve it.)

The short of it was that Aziraphale had been in love with Crowley for hundreds – nay, thousands – of years. And, eighty years ago, when a demon had walked across consecrated ground for him, he’d discovered that Crowley loved him back. He’d been struck dumb by it, unable to respond to the demon’s offer home for a full minute before regaining his senses.

A…lot of things happened between then and now. Aziraphale had internalized a lot of lies over his existence, and the fears he’d accumulated could not disappear overnight. He had many worries to overcome, an entirely new worldview to come to terms with. And Crowley, darling Crowley, was so patient, so giving…even as Aziraphale sat around for years after they were free, Crowley never demanded, never pushed for more. He simply sat by, content if he had to wait millennia further for a fussy old angel to catch up to him.

So, no, Aziraphale didn’t know why this nondescript Tuesday was the one, but he had greeted the day after a satisfying conclusion to a new book he’d been nervous to try, he’d drunken a marvelous cup of jasmine tea, and the autumn chill as he walked to and from that sweet bakery down the block had made him more than happy to bundle up in his favorite tartan scarf with matching mittens. It had been a lovely morning, and he’d read a good book, and he decided there was no better omen to a love confession than that.

He was stirred from his thoughts when, predictably and punctually, the locked door swung open and a few confident footsteps clicked against his floorboards.

“Angel!” Crowley called. “What’d’ya say to dragging your archaic arse to a film? It’s a musical and it’s obnoxious, you’ll like it, it’s called-“ Crowley paused suddenly as he swung into the room on legs like pendulums, eyes wide, cheeks and nose red from the wind and hair a touch mussed. He wore the latest fashion involving uneven sleeve lengths and one half-cuffed pant leg, but it was all the usual black.

Aziraphale smiled at him, wide and unrestrained. Crowley’d always had this effect on him, and one of his favorite things in the world was that he didn’t have to hold it back now. “Crowley! What is this nonsense about a cinematographic show?”

Crowley huffed like he was trying to be annoyed but couldn’t cut it. He held up two slim fingers with two movie tickets (most cinemas did digital tickets nowadays, but Crowley was fond of physical ones, much like Aziraphale and his books). “You. Me. Movie, tonight. I promise you’ll like it.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows a touch.

“Well, you won’t _hate_ it.”

“I’m sure it’s the best I can hope for out of such a dreadful medium.”

“Angel-“

“It falls horrendously short of theatre, my dear, it’s a mockery-“

“Movies are literally completely different, and they’ve come a long way since, I dunno, _Birth of a_ fucking _Nation…”_

Aziraphale made a face. “Lord, I should hope so. That revolting display was morally reprehensible.”

Crowley nodded, lips curled. “Gross. Anyway, you coming?”

Aziraphale sighed, entirely for show. “I suppose you won’t give up unless I surrender a perfectly good evening of reading to this activity of yours?”

“On the money, angel.”

“Grand.” Aziraphale stood from his seat, brushing off his pants of invisible crumbs and straightening his lapels. “Well, until your show, why don’t you join me for a late lunch?”

“Sure.” Crowley spun on his heel and stalked to the door, out to that heinous vehicle of his. “You wanted to try that Korean place next, right?”

Aziraphale felt warm, knowing that Crowley always paid attention, always remembered even the little details. Crowley spoiled him rotten and he didn’t mind it a bit. “Indeed, I did,” he agreed, hopelessly in love as he scrambled to follow.

The meal was scrumptious, and Aziraphale lauded the chef most extravagantly (and possibly sent a miracle his way, now that no one could tell him not to). Crowley ate very fast, while Aziraphale savored eat tiny morsel, as was quite typical. They clearly valued different aspects of the experience, but the angel felt soft knowing they both valued the company the most. Goodness gracious, they really were dead gone on one another, weren’t they? He felt as though he wore his heart on his sleeve this day, and was sure anyone could see how they felt for each other (if the waitress’ fond smile was anything to go by, he wasn’t far off the mark there).

Their perfectly lovely lunch out was soon followed by a perfectly lovely walk in the outdoors. Crowley shivered, clad entirely in thin layers (all polyester, nary a lick of proper wool to be seen! Aziraphale was scandalized). Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale reached over and took Crowley’s cold hand in his warm one. He’d left the mittens at home precisely to do so. It was the first step in his (admittedly very vague) plan.

Crowley grasped his hand immediately, without hesitation, and physically leaned toward Aziraphale like a snake toward a heat lamp. “Gosh, are all angels literal heaters? I swear I am going to _freeze_ to _discorporation.”_

Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly at the dramatics. “It’s hardly 18 degrees. You’ll be fine.”

“It’s this bloody island. ‘S always cold.”

Aziraphale swallowed. He could be brave, he could do this. He was going to build up small romantic gestures over the day before their talk after the film, and it was going to be fine. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll keep you warm,” he said, feeling warm himself just by saying it. His heart skipped a beat at the endearment, and he smiled to his companion, burning over with fondness.

Crowley released his hand to loop their arms together, pressing his lean body against Aziraphale’s plush one entirely. “You gonna be my own personal angel heater, huh?”

The angel’s face glowed bright red, and not just because of the chilly breeze. “Yes.”

“Fantastic.” Crowley smirked, dragging them to continue walking. Aziraphale wasn’t sure when they’d stopped. “Maybe I won’t freeze my arse off by the time we reach the blessed cinema.”

The movie was…interesting. It was apparently a remake of a remake of a book adaptation, which, if Aziraphale was to understand, was fairly standard. Aziraphale had never read the original novel but certainly had no desire to after the film was over. Instead of listening to the abysmal musical score (honestly, modern composers were insufferable), Aziraphale instead paid attention to Crowley. The way the demon leaned forward for the tense bits, laughed at the terrible jokes, moved in close to Aziraphale’s ear to make sly comments, his hot breath writing scripts into Aziraphale’s skin.

Once, Aziraphale caught the demon’s hand in his own, even going so far as to raise their entwined fingers and press a kiss to Crowley’s knuckles. He was so embarrassed, he couldn’t bear to look at the demon’s reaction.

They exited the cinema, still hand-in-hand. The sky above was an expanse of darkness, not a star to be seen. Aziraphale made a mental note to have Crowley drive them out stargazing one of these nights. As much as he wanted to savor the moment, Crowley wouldn’t last long in the steadily dropping temperatures. How the demon got anywhere in winter, Aziraphale hadn’t a clue.

“Fancy a nightcap, darling?” he asked.

“Obviously.” And it was, it was.

As Aziraphale settled onto the sofa a short time later, opposite the love of his life, Aziraphale felt a nervous twisting of his gut. Crowley had to suspect something by now, he’d been so terribly transparent all day. The touches, the endearments. Crowley seemed unbothered, but the poor dear must’ve been wondering what was going on. Aziraphale didn’t want to leave him in his confusion, and nor did he want to have this conversation through the haze of drink. Now was the moment.

“So,” Crowley said, popping the cork off a bottle with a thought. “Not the worst thing ever, eh? You did at least laugh at the bit with the dog-“

“Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted, heartbeat rapidly quickening. Blast this corporation, but nothing for it. “I wanted to…speak with you.”

Crowley smirked indulgently as he set the bottle down beside the empty glasses. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“You know what I mean, foul fiend.”

Crowley spread his hand in a the-stage-is-yours sort of motion.

Aziraphale took a deep, steadying breath, eyes flicking about. “I…I can’t imagine that you haven’t noticed how I…that I…how I regard you, over the years.”

He looked to the demon warily. Crowley’s eyebrow ticked up, but he otherwise showed no reaction.

“The – the thing is,” Aziraphale continued. “I’ve been so afraid for so long. Of – of Heaven, yes, but also…of you getting hurt. I didn’t want to give them a reason to harm you…more than I already had.” He forced himself to look up, to make eye contact, but those sunglasses were in the way. “Erm, would you take your sunglasses off, dear?”

Crowley started, like he’d forgotten about them. He slipped the shades off easily, tucking them into the low V-neck of his shirt. His unveiled eyes were a sharp yellow, bright and curious. “What are you going on about, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled sadly. Crowley did always give him a chance to back out, a moment to escape should he choose to. He always took it before, but he wouldn’t, not this time. He reached out tentatively and cupped Crowley’s face with both of his hands, face warming with every moment that passed as Crowley looked at him like that. Soft, patient, understanding. Loving.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said gently. “I love you, so very much, and I’m sorry I’ve made you wait so long for me.”

For a long, terrible moment, Crowley didn’t react. He stared, and gave a slow, cat-like blink. Then another. His hands came up to wrap gently around Aziraphale’s wrists, leaning forward ever so slight. “You…you what now?”

“I love you, Crowley. My dear. My _dearest.”_

Crowley’s mouth fell open. “Like, romantically?”

Aziraphale felt himself blushing harder, if it was at all possible. “Y-Yes.”

“Right, yeah. Wow…Gosh.”

Aziraphale held his breath, not that he needed it, and waited for Crowley to continue. However, Crowley looked like he was waiting for Aziraphale to do something and raised an eyebrow when he didn’t. “Uh, so…what now?”

Aziraphale felt something painful in his chest. “Well, you…I’d understand if you don’t want to, but…I would love it dearly if you, erm…”

“Yeah?”

Oh, his demon looked so earnest, so eager to please. “If you said it back?”

Both of Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “Why would I do that?”

Aziraphale huffed a small laugh, endeared by the attempt at nonchalance. “Crowley, you don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m not afraid. We can…” he lowered his eyes a moment, then raised them again, determined. “We can go your _speed_ , love.”

“My…my speed,” Crowley echoed blankly.

“Yes.”

“Don’t have to pretend anymore?”

“Yes.”

Crowley’s face screwed up in concentration, and Aziraphale began rubbing small, delicate circles with his thumbs over Crowley’s cheeks. Crowley had waited for him for so, so long. Aziraphale could do the same, however long his demon needed.

“So…so, are you saying…” Crowley made a strange face. Surprised, but also like he’d licked a lemon. “You love me, and, and I…I…what?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I’ve known how you felt a long time. I really am sorry I haven’t said any-“

“Oh, fuck!” Crowley exclaimed with all the grace accompanying an epiphany. His eyes met the angel’s, and they were clear, startled, a little offended. “I’m in _love_ with you! That explains so blessed _much!”_

Aziraphale’s brain made some sort of screeching noise of brakes along a train track. “You – you _didn’t know_?”

Crowley continued to stare, mouth hung open. “What the fuck,” he intoned. “I’m in love with you? Since _when?”_

Aziraphale’s hands slipped to rest against Crowley’s chest, the demon’s hands automatically following to rest atop them. “Y-Yes? Of course, you are? I, uh…you – you didn’t…”

“How was I supposed to know?!” Crowley demanded, suddenly defensive, shoulders rising. “’M a fuckin’ demon, aren’t I? Not supposed to love feathery bastards! Or anyone! How the heaven was I supposed to blessed _tell?”_

Aziraphale made an incredulous noise, shaking his head slightly. He – he…Crowley…

_Hadn’t realized._

Unexpectedly, Aziraphale began to laugh. A long, deep-bellied laugh, the kind that left him not making sounds so much as huffing air in desperate puffs as his forehead fell to Crowley’s shoulder. Unbelievable. Thousands of years. _Thousand of years_ of loving, wondering, caring, being so damned careful not to let on how he felt, not to acknowledge how _Crowley_ felt when Aziraphale realized, and all of it…all of it…

Ridiculous. They were both so ridiculous.

(But Crowley was definitely more so. Aziraphale loved him.)

Crowley’s arms came around Aziraphale’s body almost nervously as the angel fell against him. “Uh, angel…?” he asked, an anxious note to his voice. “You…okay? Did you snap?”

Aziraphale shook his head, trying to get the laughter under control. But every time he sobered, he remembered the situation they were in, and began giggling again. When he was centered enough to draw back, Crowley looked equally concerned as offended.

“Bloody Somewhere,” Crowley mumbled, sneering. “Wasn’t _that_ funny.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck, fingers gentle against his nape, the heat of skin on skin. He smiled gently, warmly. “I am sorry, my dear. I just…all these years, I assumed you _knew.”_

“Yeah. Got that.” The demon looked extremely put out.

Aziraphale chuckled lightly. “Darling…”

Crowley’s face flared up all in an instant, eyes startled and consumed suddenly with yellow. _“Darling?”_ he repeated. “What the heaven are we, fiftiesssss housssewivessss? _Darling?”_

“I’ve been calling you that all day, love.”

“L-Lo…I-I…what the…”

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale placated gently, toying with the short hairs at Crowley’s neck. “I understand you’ve had, well, quite the shock. We’ll…go at your pace, okay?”

He punctuated this (very unfairly) with a kiss to the cheek.

Crowley looked about ready to faint and began wheezing, his arms gone slack until they merely dangled at his side. “Y-You…I…frghhk…mrffgg…”

Aziraphale released the poor demon and settled his hands in his own lap. Their knees still touched, but otherwise the physical distance was more the norm. From now on, he’d let Crowley breach it, and decide how they moved forward. Aziraphale had loved from afar for thousands of years. Crowley had, too, but hadn’t known it. Aziraphale would need to be slow, now, and let his dear catch up.

 _Ha._ What a strange thought, after feeling like the slow one for so long. It was honestly comforting, to be the one leading.

“Crowley, you’re steaming,” Aziraphale pointed out. It was true. A thin trickle of stream was coming from each ear and his complexion rivaled his hair.

The demon took in a deep, shuddering breath, and the steaming stopped. “You,” he said simply, “are an utter. Bastard.”

“And you, my dear, are a very good person.”

“I hate everything about thissss.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but grin, the kind that promised only further bastardry. “It’s not so bad when you get used to it.”


	2. Chapter 2

“What the _actual_ fucking _shit_ am I supposed to _do_ with you failures?!”

Crowley growled, glaring lasers at this feeble display of greenery as he maneuvered between the broad leaves, spritzing the air violently. His collection, which now took up the entire plant room in addition to a section of his sitting room, shuddered. With no work to drag him off all the time, they’d never been so disciplined under the demon’s regular care.

“Pathetic. You’re completely blessed pathetic,” he muttered, pausing to look around for effect. The plants looked appropriately afraid. “If you think this is going to be enough, if you think it’s okay to sit around and make him _wait_ for you to catch up-“

Crowley choked. “For – for _me,_ ” he corrected. He could physically feel his plants’ confusion. With a petulant groan, he tossed the spritzer across the room and stormed out. “Dammit.” Running both of his hands through his hair until it stood on end, he growled low until he made it to his closet, where he stopped to point at his full-length mirror. His reflection regarded him with a scowl.

“Do better,” he muttered.

It’d been like this for three weeks now. Three weeks. Three weeks after six blessed millennia, after nine years, after lifetimes of existence. And it was three weeks since Crowley had realized – with some help – that he was in love with his best friend.

“Shit,” he said, swiveling to stomp somewhere else. He found himself pacing between the sparse kitchen and his sitting room. The plants in here were spoiled, thought they were special because they were in a different room. Crowley snarled at them and marched to his door, slamming it shut behind him.

Every step was a syllable. _I. Am. In. Love. With. A. Zir. A. Phale. I. Am. So. Fuck. Ing. Stu. Pid._

He practically marched his way through the city, boiling with…something. Feelings, emotions. Awful. He couldn’t drive the Bentley anymore, not since the Realization. It kept playing all of Queen’s most romantic songs, ones he knew by heart, and had _never blessed applied to himself_ because he was apparently too bloody stupid to see what was right in front of his bloody face.

He flung himself into the usual bench with a sigh. It felt wrong without Aziraphale there.

The thing was, Crowley had always known he cared about Aziraphale, alright? He wasn’t _that_ thick. Aziraphale was important to him. His best friend, easily the most important thing in his life. But, for so long, that just wasn’t a thing that was safe. He was aware of it, but he tried not to look too closely, tried not to dwell on it. He knew Aziraphale valued their friendship, no matter what words were said. It was them against Heaven, against Hell. Them against their Head Offices, them together. Always there for each other, for eternity, always.

_Love._

Love wasn’t something Crowley ever thought about. It was inherently angelic, supposedly, but also very human. It was a word he often couldn’t quantify, couldn’t understand, wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with. Even now, as he analyzed it from all angles, he didn’t get it.

How did he fall in love and not _realize it?_

“Oh, hello!”

Crowley dragged his gaze lazily to see, of course, Aziraphale standing there, wrapped up in his usual kit with an addition of a scarf and mittens. Crowley was torn between wanting to sleep on top of him for three days and wanting to bite him for daring to look so adorable. Holy fuck.

He did neither. “Hey, angel.”

Aziraphale took this as an invitation and settled beside him. They didn’t sit at opposite ends of the bench like strangers, not since after their trials nine years back, but they weren’t close enough to be touching. Could maybe hold hands.

Crowley felt himself going red at the thought. _What is wrong with you. You’ve literally held hands before, multiple times. Stop being a wuss._ Nonetheless, he couldn’t bring himself to reach out.

“I was thinking of whipping up a pie or two,” Aziraphale was saying. “It does seem the season for it. Perhaps pumpkin, or peach.”

Crowley smirked. “Apple?”

Aziraphale glanced at him, failing to hide a smile. “I suppose.”

Like a lovesick protagonist of some soppy rom com, Crowley smiled back. “Could bring some music, make a thing of it.”

“What’s wrong with _my_ music?”

“You promised you’d let me introduce you to some modern artists,” Crowley insisted, swaying forward with a teasingly arched eyebrow. “And aren’t angels supposed to keep their word?”

Aziraphale sighed, and his breath caressed Crowley’s mouth. Their faces were…awfully close. “Alright, but none of that…that dubbing step nonsense.”

Crowley swallowed, scrambling for his own wits. “Angel, dubstep hasn’t been modern in ages. Literally no one listens to dubstep.”

Those crow’s feet around the angel’s eyes, when he smiled, should’ve come with a warning sign from so close. “Then that’s alright, my dear.”

Crowley snapped away as though electrified, standing up in one swift movement. He might actually catch fire. This was absurd. Being in love sucked.

(He loved it, he loved it _so much,_ but admitting that would make him even sappier than he already blessed was. He might melt into the very ground and then where would they be?)

With a brief stop by Crowley’s flat (“Aziraphale, I can _feel_ you thinking kind thoughts at them, shut up-“), they made their way to the bookshop, through the back room, and up the stairs to the first floor that Aziraphale had found about eight years ago, now. Crowley and the tiny flat had been very surprised to discover its existence, regardless of Aziraphale’s insistence that it’d been there since he bought the place.

As Aziraphale puttered about gathering ingredients, which he always bought the human way in a grocery store like some sort of maniac, Crowley snapped the spare phonograph upstairs to the living room adjacent to the kitchen. The music he’d selected was technically a touch outdated, having been popular a few years back, but anything after the 60s was still novel to this ridiculous angel, so Crowley got it playing, vaguely grateful hipsters were still enough of a thing to make it worth setting music to vinyl (something he totally didn’t influence at all).

“Which should I start with?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley opened his mouth to answer, but was bulldozed as the angel responded to his own question. “Perhaps the pumpkin, first, then I can set about chopping the apples…oh, and I need to find my crust recipe, first…”

Crowley rolled his eyes and laid back against the sofa, closing his eyes. He found himself humming softly to the music, listening to Aziraphale’s little hums and haws, lulled to extreme levels of comfort never before known. He felt safe. So blessed safe here, and, without meaning to, fell asleep.

He woke sometime later, at least a few hours, if the darkness outside was any indication, and slowly blinked away the grittiness of sleep from his eyelids. The air smelled sweet with cinnamon. A brown, fuzzy blanket was tucked around him, and the music had apparently been replaced with something classical, likely because his own record finished. Groggily, he couldn’t place what was playing, but it made him want to curl back up and continue the nap.

Instead, he dragged himself to sitting, stretching languorously. His sunglasses were gone, too – oh, there, on the coffee table. No point in putting them back on.

Crowley could see Aziraphale past the back of the sofa, still baking in the kitchen. Crowley felt such a crashing wave of fondness that he nearly choked on it. The angel’s curls, wild abandon under the glowing kitchen light, cast in bits of gold. His sleeves rolled up, and a checkered apron tied around his waist. He seemed to be mixing something, a look of utter concentration of his face.

How. How had Crowley never seen it? How could he have possibly been so blind?

Slowly, Crowley stood and ventured to the kitchen. He’d tossed his boots off at the landing and shuffled in black knit socks Aziraphale made for him. Aziraphale looked happy, and he was beautiful, and Crowley’s heart ached with something he couldn’t name (or simply didn’t want to).

Wordlessly, he approached and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale from behind, pressing himself against Aziraphale’s back.

The angel made an adorable sort of squeal. “C-Crowley!” he squeaked. “Y-You’re awake!”

“Mmm.” Crowley rested his chin on the angel’s shoulder. He was sure Aziraphale could feel how hard and fast his heart was beating, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. He _wanted_ this, damn it all, and this is what he was going to do. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep like that and leave you by yourself.”

Aziraphale swallowed visibly, mouth working and fingers fluttering. He had a smudge of flour on his cheek. “Oh, I-I wasn’t really by myself. I’m always happy to have you nearby.”

Crowley snorted. “Even unconscious?”

“In whatever way you’re comfortable, dear.”

Crowley took a deep breath. “ _Darling.”_

“W-What?”

“You called me ‘darling’ before. Why’d you stop?”

Aziraphale tried to turn in the embrace, but Crowley just held him tighter. He couldn’t do this face to face. This was already hard enough. “Well, you didn’t seem to like it.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Well, that’s very-!”

“It caught me by surprise is all.”

Aziraphale took a moment to ponder this. “Do you…want me to say it again?”

Crowley shrugged awkwardly, leaning until his entire body weight was supported by his angel. “’F you like.”

The smile Aziraphale gave him over his shoulder was silly and _loud._ “Darling,” he cooed.

“Ugh.” Crowley withdrew, burning with embarrassment, and turned away to study the kitchen island, which was so covered in pies, he could hardly make out the granite. “Blessed Hell, angel, how many pies did you make?”

“Erm. A few?”

“You said you were making three.”

“I said I was making three kinds. There’s a difference.”

“And how many kinds have you made here?”

Though Crowley wasn’t looking at him, he could _feel_ Aziraphale fidgeting. “Perhaps a dozen?”

“You’re ridiculous. I love you.”

Crowley blinked. It was quiet. What the fuck.

He – he hadn’t meant to say it. He hadn’t said it – nor had Aziraphale – since that night. Ya know, the night, with the Realization and everything. Aziraphale had kept his distance, letting Crowley reach out if he chose to, and he didn’t bring it up again. Crowley’s pace and all that jazz. And now, apparently, his mouth had run ahead of his brain (and what else was new?), and he’d just blessed…

He prayed, fleetingly, for God to smite him where he stood. He wasn’t built for this.

Aziraphale stepped to stand beside him. Crowley stared steadfastly at the pies, arms crossed.

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale said simply, and Crowley released a breath. He didn’t know if this feeling was relief, or pain, or if it was just what love felt like. He just felt a lot, all at once, and it was so much.

“Right,” Crowley said, clapping his hands together. “Enough of that. Which one is an apple pie? I’m trying a piece.”

Mercifully, Aziraphale didn’t acknowledge Crowley’s…everything…and set about cutting him a slice. Crowley accepted the plate without eye contact and took a bite.

“Mmm. ‘S good,” he said through his half-chewed bite. Hopefully speaking with his mouth full would help make up for his soppiness.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Good…tastes nice, or whatever.”

Aziraphale beamed like Crowley had given him a proper compliment. “Thank you, darling. I’m glad the Original Tempter approves.”

“Bah! Y’almost done?” Crowley gestured to the kitchen at large with his fork.

“Ah, well…not quite, but I was thinking of stopping for the night to read. You’re welcome to stay, of course.”

“Alright.” Crowley’d long had a habit of napping at Aziraphale’s place and he didn’t feel like putting his shoes back on. Plus, the Bentley was in Mayfair, and he didn’t want to walk to his flat. He really had no choice but to stay here, he figured (practically forced to, really), and returned to his place on the couch to continue his pie.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale settled next to him. Their knees touched, just a brush of fabric, and Crowley relaxed into the cushions. Aziraphale caught Crowley’s ankle with his own, and they sat together and apart.

“Okay?” Aziraphale asked gently, glancing over.

“…Yeah.”

Aziraphale nodded and opened his book.

In the following silence, Crowley set aside his empty plate and watched the opposite wall (a bookshelf, of course). Honestly, he wasn’t sure how long it would take him to get used to this. Maybe, one day, it’d feel like the most natural thing in the world, to be in love, to love Aziraphale so strongly, so much. He’d apparently been doing it for a very long time, after all. For now, Aziraphale was willing to take it slow, and accept each day as it came. They’d gone through six thousand years of existence together, taking the transitions from enemies to acquaintances to business partners to friends in stride. From the friendship to the romance…they would be fine. It wasn’t so different, really. It was all love of some sort.

Feeling content, he closed his eyes and asked, “Read to me, angel?”

He could hear the pleased smile in Aziraphale’s voice. “As you wish, darling.” There was the rustling of papers, and he began the story from the top, some sort of cheesy romance that Crowley knew would have a happy ending. Of course, it would. Crowley fell back asleep to the sound of Aziraphale’s gentle tones, the caress of indistinct words and a careful, soothing cadence…and he felt loved.

And there was something good in knowing, in _knowing…_ that he loved in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theme song of this fic is [Andante, Andante by ABBA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vANsx3pL8mo) because it feels right


End file.
